The Scrap Pile
by lokindclonelvr
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots that I have written as companion pieces for my main story, 'Lost In Time.' Funny and angsty alike, each chapter features the dragoon's misadventures in the modern age and development of my original characters.
1. chapter 1

**Hello you guys! I'm sorry for my absence as of late, but life kind of has a way of catching up to you, you know? So I am back, but it's been a while and I'm having trouble getting creative juices flowing. So I'm writing stuff to help get back in the Patriot and time travel land, with that may I present... TAAA-DAAAA!! The scrap pile!! Or more accurately, a collection of one-shots that go with 'Lost in Time,' but don't really fit into the main story. These will feature all of the main characters and the one-shots will not be posted in any order at all. Well, without further ado, here is the scrap pile.**

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Chapter 1: In which Ban receives harsh treatment by a woman...and a revolving door.

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' _I met a young giii-iirl there with her face like a rose..._ _And her skin was as faaaa-aiir as the lily that grows_ "

Banastre's very off-key tenor voice carried through the nearly empty hotel lobby as he stumbled away from the resteraunt and more notably, the bar.

He was drunk. _Very_ drunk. He hadn't really intended to have so much drink at that nice hotel but... He hadn't really intended his company for the night to depart from him so soon. Such a shame, Miss uh... _Velasquez_ , he remembered now, was quite an exciting spitfire! Such passion, although he didn't much appreciate being at the receiving end after he ah... had a bit to drink and another woman's name slipped out instead of hers. It was quite embarrassing but well, one can only keep up with so many names! That excuse did not seem to be enough for her however, so he's had quite a few venomous words discreetly thrown at him. He had no idea what some of them were, because he does not speak Spanish, but none of it must have been very flattering. Then she firmly excused herself and left him alone.

He began to sing again, his voice wavering and forlorn now.

" _I laid this girl dooown wiiiith her face to the sky..._

 _Took out me raaaamoood, me bullets likewi--_ "

' _Maria!_ '

Ban promply stopped his rather dirty recitation at the recollection of the Spanish lady's name. Although it was too late, he nearly gave a little whoop of triumph, but instead he stumbled and nearly tumbled down a small set of marble stairs near the lobby exit. He did end up saving his pretty face however, by grabbing onto the object closest to him (an empty bellhop) and hoisting himself back up.

"Sssssory..." His boyish face clumsily jerked upward at it, as he has somehow mistaken the figure for a person, until his chocolate eyes blearily focused on the golden pipes.

"Oh."

Ban's thin lips curled into an oversized grin and he released a short, barking laugh. He was too intoxicated for embarrassment anymore,and he was alone anyway-- mostly.

He managed to reduce his humor to an uneven hissing that escaped between his teeth as he stumbled towards the door. It wasn't really a door, well not like he's ever seen. It consisted of four glass panels that rotated in a circle. It was pointlessly impractical, and nigh impossible for him to use even when sober!

With a great heaving sigh, Ban finally pushed himself against the resistance of one great glass panel. Perhaps he used too much of his strength however, because the revolving door began to spin like a top and it pushed him right along with it! He had no choice but to keep going around, although every cycle made his head spin. Finally, having quite enough, Banastre thrust himself out of the gap into what he believed was the street.Yet, when he raised his pounding head, he only saw the formal decorations and fancy furniture.

"Oh, but this is a disaster..." He mumbled miserably to himself, cradling his head in his shaking arms. Despite the protests of his sluggish muscles, he was up once again to reluctantly try again. Only the exit offered yet another obstacle when Ban's jacket caught in between the gap and one of the panels.

"Bloody--fucking hell!"

Soon enough the short man found himself knocked onto his bottom after a long battle to claim back the hooded part of his garment. However, this particular struggle managed to deliver several big blows: he will walk out of there not only drunk and regected, but with a bruised bottom, a bleeding head, and a heavily damaged sense of dignity.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: In which we observe a night with Bordon in the early days of his 21st century transition, and his losing battle with homesickness.

Inspired by this prompt: Imagine your favorite historical figure hugging themselves as they cry silently in bed.

 **So yeah, super angsty if the prompt hasn't already tipped you off. Sorry about that. More humor may come in later oneshots, maybe.**

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Major; or rather, _former_ Major Bordon all but dragged himself into the new chamber he shared with Wilkins. He was exhausted... and yet restless as well. He felt that he had the weight of the entire world crushing his shoulders, with nothing to do for it but sit idle and watch. This was intolerable to Bordon, who was usually able to take charge and gain control.

That was not the case here. Never before had he felt so displaced, so... vulnerable.

The soldier's burly frame sagged against the bed after he laid himself down upon it. The damn thing was flimsy and light, every time he sank down upon the mattress he felt it would collapse! Some ways next to him, he could hear Wilkins snoring. Richard was not alone in this unwanted endeavor, but that brought him no comfort. He still considered himself alone, his family and the few friends he had were still long dead.

' _Now if only I was!_ '

Richard heaved a great sigh as he turned in his postion, facing the wall and folding into a little ball of woe. As predicted, sleep did not come to him, as it has not last night, or the night previous to that. So instead, he slowly took out the contents of his memory and played with them, he desperatly clung onto every scrap of his family in his mind's eye. His mother, Rose, was very proper but loving. She always supported him, even with 'trivial' matters such as his violin playing. Bordon's sister, Margaret, was a sweet girl who looked up to her older brother and essentially had him wrapped around her finger. Oh, how she wept when he left England to fight in the colonies! And his father... a firm and rigid man much like Richard himself, he passed on the importance of calmly carrying on no matter what.

Yet... even now that his father wasn't here, Richard gradually felt tears well up in his eyes the more he thought about them and he couldn't help feeling that he has failed. He was a hardened soldier, he does _not_ cry! It was too late however, for the dam has already broken and moisture dripped down the side of his face. Wonderful. To stop now would be impossible, and he was far too weary to try anyway.

' _No one will know. As long as I don't wake up Wilkins._ '

Strangely enough, that alone brought him just a bit of comfort as he hugged the blankets tighter to himself and buried his face in them. Richard no longer pretended to be in control, no longer remained strong just for show. For now, he didn't have to. Every ounce of sorrow and vulnerablility made its presence known: in each tremble of his body and each tear that escaped his tightly shut eyes. His shaky breaths, suppressed sobs and nearly-muted whimpers were among the loudest noises in the room. The only other contender was Wilkins' snores. At least it seemed the former captain is not a light sleeper.

Time passed at an unknown rate for poor Richard Bordon as he finally released his pent up misery. It felt like a good few hours to him; this was among one of the longest nights of his life. Eventually though, his eyes did dry and his arms became limp and numb from clinging so tightly to himself. The lack of sleep these past few nights took its toll, and Bordon, with his face still buried in blankets, finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

 **I know, I know. I'm a terrible human being! I either make humor at the expense of a character or I make angst at the expense of a character! But... such is the way of writing. I will apologize to Bordon for bringing him to the 21st century but not for making** **him cry. He's suppressed it for a little too long and that's hella bad.**


	3. Chapter 3

In which James Wilkins lets stress from his duties get the better of him.

Inspired by this prompt: Imagine your favorite historical figure spilling ink over a letter that they have been writing for hours.

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Captain Wilkins was dead tired. He has been a dragoon officer for several months now, a participant in the hunt for the ghost. Or rather, a wild goose chase! For the culprit behind these attacks did not get this name for nothing; he vanishes every time... as if he were no more than a phantom. The attempts at capturing such a phantom was like trying to catch smoke. Like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

As time went by, the pressure mounted for Colonel Tavington to capture this ghost, which in turn mounted pressure on all of his men. So they rode longer, trained harder, and worked until their limits were almost passed. Now, Wilkins was not a weak man, far from it! And he valued service to his country more than his own life. However... how will Tavington's men be able to do anything for King and Country if they can barely even see straight? Even now in his tent Wilkins found no rest, for he had to complete one of his more unpleasant duties: paperwork!

So there he was, hunched over his desk, a frail quill in one fatigued hand scratching out the final paragraph of a letter designated to a lieutenant in another legion. He was almost done, but a loud and ungodly din from nearby made him jump out of his skin.

"Shit!"

The clamor turned out to be the barking of dogs; possibly the hounds baying after a squirrel. James shook his head and turned his attention back to what he was doing. Then he froze in shock and disbelief. For there on the desk sat an inkwell that he had struck with his elbow, now toppled over, its contents emptied and spilled out over the letter that had taken him over three hours to write. The breath that James didn't realize he had been holding in was released in the form of a vexed growl.

' _Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm..._ '

He repeated this over and over in his mind, like a magical incantation of some form or another. Losing his temper will do no good, he attempted to reason. So with that he shut his eyes, took a deep breath in, held it... and roared with all the rage and ferocity that would give a dragon a run for his money.

Suddenly the exhausted giant was revived and energized with frustration; James leapt from his chair like a charging bull and terrorized all the furniture and objects he could get his hands on. He toppled over his desk, his chair, his cot. For extra measure, he tossed around the few books that he kept lying around and the several quills that he had broken while trying to write as well. The feathery end of one quill in particular kept floating in the wrong direction than where he wanted it, so James ended up batting at it as a cat would with a mouse. At this point, if one could witness the Captain's tirade, one would be more amused than frightened. Indeed no one saw it, per se, but the racket that Wilkins made has certainly drawn attention from the other dragoons and the camp followers. Even more so when the white cloth of the tent collapsed in a sagging heap over the wriggling officer.

After a while of struggle, James finally managed to pull the heavy fabric off of him... and was met with a crowd of shocked and amused faces.

James stood before the soldiers, the anger from only a few moments ago faded into embarrassment. There was no noise for only a moment, and then a spark from the back ignited a cacophony of laughter. James's face was blazing red and he watched Colonel Tavington with dread. The shorter man slowly stalked up to him and silenced the soldiers once again with but a simple order. He looked neither shocked or amused. At all. Tavington's wolfish eyes scrutinized the Colonial with distain. Yet he also smirked, just a trace, but it was enough to express his satisfaction. Not a single soul could argue that Wilkins was a bad soldier. He carried out his orders to the best of his ability, and he valued loyalty to the King more strongly than even some men who resided in England! Yet Tavington despised Wilkins. True, a trashed tent was hardly a cause for formal disciplinary action, but the Captain knew that Tavington was going to use this to his advantage one way or another.

"Captain."

James remained at attention, the only sign of any expression in his face was the sweat on his forehead and the panic in his cobalt eyes. He remained silent, the wise thing to do when confronted by Tavington. The Colonel silently eyed the collapsed tent, the belongings scattered about the ground, and the disheveled appearance of the larger man in a cool, even smug manner. He began to speak. He did not raise his voice or show any anger at all. He is already harsh... dangerous without having to do any of that.

"I can see that you have quite a temper. I wonder if we could make you a half-competent fighter if you used that anger on the battlefield instead of throwing childlike tantrums. This is hardly the conduct of a gentleman or a member of His Majesty's army. Clean this mess up, Wilkins. I expect this area to be spotless by the time I return from my audience with Cornwallis, is that clear?"

"Yes Colonel."

"Good. Bordon." He nodded towards his second before turning to leave.

Now, at first glance Tavington's reaction might seem like nothing, just a firm reprimand that a misbehaving child would receive from their parent. But Wilkins knew better. Tavington was simply storing away this moment as simply another thing to use against him. James already regretted losing his head as it drew so much attention. But he knew that he was going to pay for it even more later on. But how?


	4. Chapter 4

In which a younger Elizabeth attempts to tackle the challenges of making pretty noises with an inanimate object.

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Elizabeth sat on a worn plastic chair, somewhat isolated from the other teenage musicians. Class has not yet started, the cacophony of noise filled the high school band room. The off-key twitter from flutists, the banging of over-eager percussionists, the tuning trumpets and the competition among low brass as to who can play the loudest all surrounded the girl's over-sensitive ears. Luckily though, this only lasted for a good few minutes before Mr. Hopkins intervened; if this chaos went on all class period it would have caused Elizabeth to shut down until hours after she has gone home!

The ninth-grader has been in band for nearly a semester, and so far she hated it. True, she had a choice concerning where to transfer after art was cut, more or less. But she needed two fine arts credits, and the mere thought of singing, dancing, or acting on a stage made the incredibly shy girl qualm. So instead she chose what she believed was the best option.

Elizabeth opened her instrument case and slowly took out the pieces, assembling them into a black and silver sculpture of sorts. This routine was monotonous and by now took her only a few minutes to complete; bell, lower section, upper section, barrel, mouthpiece, ligature. All the while she kept a really thin and fragile popsicle stick in her mouth. The taste of wood always makes her gag, but it has to be wet while she plays. Reeds are very picky that way.

For most of the half-year she's been in this class she's had a sort of battle with all of the instruments. Some battles were more successful than others. For example, Elizabeth had no idea what her director was thinking when he tried to assign her the tuba; those sousaphones were bigger than her and impossible for the kid to even lift! That particular experience only lasted for one class before she was assigned and transferred to practically every area of the marching band.

Eventually however, there was a match: the clarinet! Although it was hardly love at first sight-- the reeds, nasty "mouthpiece" jokes from immature boys, and the squeaking noise from beginner playing were all obstacles that she slowly had to overcome. It would have to do. She had to admit, the instrument eventually grown on her, she could even say that she enjoyed playing. A little. But that all ended when concert season began.

Once again Hopkins has tested her resolve. Once marching season ended, he transitioned some kids to instruments for concert band, including her. She still played a clarinet yes, but it was the big brother of the family; the bass clarinet!

Elizabeth groaned aloud at the fully assembled instrument as she half-listened to Hopkins trying to get the percussion section to shut up. The thing was a monster, her small hands could barely wrap around the thick tube to reach the keys. She experimentally put the mouthpiece to her lips and blowed. It required so much air, and the sound quality was so weak and croaky she just couldn't call it a note!

"Alright!" Mr. Hopkins shouted as he stood up to the podium, the playing quieted with the exception of a few knuckleheads. He was a middle-aged man, with a beard and a mullet, both grayed with age and stress. He had wrinkles too, but tye kind that comes from years of laughter. Hopkins was very tall, and very portly which only added to his imposing figure.

His eyes, enlarged to the size of a bug's because of the glasses he wore, wildly shifted to each band member who was still making sound. His booming voice then exploded into the crowd like a sports announcer, every ounce of his normal animated character was present.

"To those of you who don't know, or are too stupid to care, class has started. We're at rest. That means if you are talking, or you have your horns up-- guess what! You're doing it WRONG! Please don't make me treat you like freshmen, thank you!"

The man flashed a huge grin that was so cheesey and so obviously fake. Finally, it was silent in there.

"Good. Now-- It's Friday. And the last class period before the weekend. Oh yes!! But I wouldn't get too excited if I were you, naughty children. For now it is time for... The Lottery!"

The entire band groaned, Hopkins eagerly reached for the jar filled with names and told them to 'Stop Whining.' The class watched with bated breath as the director pulled out a little slip of paper. The paper was green, for the woodwinds. The other sections sighed with relief.

"Bradford!"

Elizabeth threw her head back and all but sank down in her seat. Her turn had to come eventually, she guessed.

"You know the drill. What I want to hear from you is... Sailor's Odyessy! Whenever you're ready."

The class was silent, save for Elizabeth and her bass. This piece was notoriously challenging for her, and Hopkins knew it. It was probably why he made her play it. She haphazardly managed to plow through the assorted quarter notes while only vaugely croaking like a frog. Then she reached 49, which consisted of 14 measures of eighth notes, and zero rests. As usual, her articulation fell apart and she ran out of air halfway. In a desperate attempt to carry on, she took a quick breath and repositioned her mouth. Unfortunately, her reed squeaked and the class laughed and jeered. Hopkins quickly put an end to that.

"How come you guys never think my jokes of the day are funny, but you laugh at this stuff? If you all think you can do better then we'll do a double lottery today, how about that??"

The now humbled band members quickly quieted down and the older man, satisfied, regarded the embarrassed teenager.

"Hey, it's not bad. It's not particularly good but you're getting better. I want you to practice that part of the piece, and uh... measure 60, because that has a bunch of eighth notes too. Then do the articulation exercises in your book. Wright will work with you."

The girl nodded, and Hopkins instructed the class to break off and practice on their own. She watched as Terence Wright-- his name was all she knew about him, other than he was a senior and he plays the tuba-- moved next to her.

"Hey, what's up?"

Elizabeth only responded with a shy smile, otherwise she was closed off.

"I think you did really good, by the way. Don't worry about it. Eventually, all those kids that laugh and play around are gonna be put on the spot too, and they don't practice as hard as you do. Just wait." Terence smiled good naturedley at the smaller girl. She nodded, feeling a little bit better.

"So..." The older teen reached one strong arm up to his stand and fiddled with his music until he found the piece.

"We both have pretty much the same part. Just remember to take breaths in between every phrase and don't try to save air. That won't work for a big instrument. I'll count us off."

As they worked together for the rest of the class, Elizabeth slowly started to feel better about her instrument, her playing and herself in general. The freshman did have to give this course some credit. It offered an escape. Everywhere else, she was a nerd, a fatty, a weird loner. But in the band room she was just a band geek, like everybody else there. She could learn to be okay with that.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

In which William meets his pint-sized match.

(This one is going to be a little longer. Set just a little bit after he and Elizabeth made up in 'Lost,' This scene is partially inspired by a scene in Kate and Leopold, and partially inspired by Captain Hook. *tee hee!*)

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William silently but eagerly marched into the recreational room. His evening was going swimmingly so far. Strangley enough, after his spat with Elizabeth the two of them had begun to grow closer. Before, she was just a resource to him, a way to adapt to the 21st century. But now he fou d himself caring for his eccentric companion. Just a little, mind. Eventually he came to look forward to when she would come home from work, and the quiet evenings he spent with her. However, he and Elizabeth were not alone tonight, and his good mood deflated a bit.

"Hello!"

William paused at the source of this greeting, from a voice that was both very small and very squeaky. It was a little girl, no older than seven, with dark skin, a round face, large brown eyes, and black hair that was seperated in several braids with blue ribbons. Her rather scrawny figure sat cross-legged upon the sofa next to Elizabeth. He not-so-discreetly raised one eyebrow at the woman, who understood this unspoken question.

"Oh! William, this is Zacara. Her parents have to work late tonight, so she's hanging out over here until they get back. Zacara, this is William."

The scientist gestured her hands back and forth from the pair, and the child switched her head in each direction that the woman directed.

Meanwhile, William simply stared down his nose at her. The soldier was not particularly fond of children, and certainly no little children loved Tavington! He had very little patience, and very little experience with them as well. Unfortunately, this endeavor required both. He was sure to survive, as long as Elizabeth kept her far away from--

The scientist jumped in her skin, as she did _every_ time her cell phone loudly disrupted the quiet that she was accustomed to.

"Sorry, hold on just a minute." Elizabeth excused herself and skipped out. William sighed, making his way into the kitchen for water. He somehow made eye contact with their guest, who gratefully remained silent for now. And yet, to him anyway, she appeared to be staring into his soul, her gaze was so focused. She said nothing, nothing all, just stared up at him. He came back and reluctantly plopped down on the couch on the far side away from her. He caught her continuing to stare, from the corner of her eye before shyly turning away.

"Yes?"

The seemingly shy girl squirmed in her seat at the unexpected demand, hesitating before she opened her mouth.

"Are you Doctor Elizabeth's boyfriend?"

"I--" He cut himself short at the curious phrase the girl used. Boy... friend?

"I am not a _boy,_ child. And... well, it's not really any of your business is it?" His surly response stemmed from a desire to hide his confusion at her question. It didn't really matter, she was just a stupid girl.

Again she scrutinized him, it lasted for several minutes and it made the hardened soldier surprisingly uncomfortable despite how much he tried to ignore her. He sighed impatiently and jerked his upper body towards her.

"Well, what is it now?" This time his tone held a sharp impatience and irritation that made her flinch and gaze up at him fearfully. Nevertheless, he coldly gazed back for an answer. The small figure sort of backed into the very corner of her seat and protectively held herself.

"...You have a really scary face..." The child cautiously pronounced each syllable with a now timid voice. The features on William's face softened, he felt the desire to kick himself. After all, the child was no threat to him. Why, he was four times her height and three times her weight! Of course she was apprehensive of him, as well!

With a great realization, Tavington anxiously glanced back at the doorway, crouching at the edge of his seat. The former officer has just recently fixed the problems that he had caused, the last thing he wanted was for Elizabeth to walk in and witness him with a frightened child! How could he be so stupid? Thankfully the woman has not returned yet. He sighed with relief, then regarded the sensitive mass next to him.

"I'm sorry." He forced his voice to lower to a soft murmur. "You don't have to be afraid of me, I'm just--" He sighed. The girl remained silent, staring down and her fingers anxiously, obbsessively twiddled together. That was exactly what Elizabeth did when anxiety overpowered her. She did that when he unleashed his temper on her as well. William glanced downward himself, feeling even more uncomfortable.

It was then that he noticed the piece of paper on the seat next to her. It was a drawing-- likely hers, judging from the crude and simple nature of the design. Really, it was a somewhat impressive creation for a seven-year-old, for he was clearly able to recognize the figure. A horse. His mouth twitched upwards into a tiny smile, barely visible.

"This is very good ah... What was your name again?"

"Zacara." She obediently answered, her voice a barely audible monotone. William carefully nodded. He sat back against his seat and began his attempt to coax her out of her shell, being careful to keep his voice soft. It came easily to him now; when he first started living with Elizabeth she scared easily and he had to approach her just as cautiously.

"I used to ride horses, back in ah... well, my old life. Several different breeds, all manner of shapes, sizes and colors. I started when I was a boy, perhaps just a little older than you." At this, Zacara perked her head up. Icy blue eyes met warm brown and the child's face turned away just as quickly as it appeared. He continued.

"My first horse was a mare. I forget what breed she was. Her name was Andromeda. Beautiful horse, pure black all over... except for one front leg. She was a very sweet creature, she always demanded my affections when I came into the barn." And indeed he came there often, to get away from his father's own explosive temper. He shoved the more unpleasant memories back down.

"She demanded treats from me as well. Apples were her favorite. If I did not give her at least one apple a day, she would refuse to let me on her back!" Tavington heard a soft set of giggling and he watched the scrawny figure relax and even scoot closer to him.

"Do you still have any horses?"

"Oh, no. No. I don't. have any land, or money for that matter." The child's soldiers sagged.

"Oh, that's too bad. You could get a small one and keep it in your apartment!" Zacara exclaimed, throwing up her arms.

Tavington's eyebrows quirked, amused at the shy girl's sudden burst of energy.

"Oh?"

"Yeah! That's what I tried to tell my dad when I asked if we could get one, but he still said no." Her dark eyes shifted down woefully at the end of her sad admittance.

"Well I will certainly consider that possibility, but I am fairly certain that Elizabeth will not allow me to keep a pony here." At this, the girl giggled again.

"You sound funny!" William snorted.

"How so?"

"Just the way you talk. And you say all those big words, like Doctor Elizabeth!"

William leaned farther back, until he was practically lying on top of the couch, with one arm propping up the back of his head.

"The important question remains: Has _'Doctor_ Elizabeth' tried to teach you any of them? She likes to teach, at times."

"Yup! She's really cool, and I wanna be like her when I grow up."

Now it was Tavington's turn to scrutinize her. Several paralleles between Zacara's and Elizabeth's behaviors came to mind.

"You are already well on your way, I believe."

The pair came to reach a sort of quiet agreement. Zacara would color and William would watch a recording of a theatrical production on PBS. It was a strange opera to be sure, about Cats of all things! Not really his idea of entertainment, yet he had trouble tearing himself away from the mesmerizing performances. Nearly an hour passed, and Elizabeth has not returned. Very strange of her to leave without any notice, but perhaps something simply came up. Both heads perked up when the doorknob clicked and turned. However, he could tell from the very loud and off-key singing that it was _not_ her!

" _...Saaaayyin, 'Wrrrap your legs rooooo-uund me, dig iiinn with your 'eels!_

 _For the closeeer we ge'ht ohhh, the be'er it feels!_

 _The birds, they was singing--_ "

William marched to the door in determination and interrupted Tarleton, deftly opening the door. Although the redhead, clearly drunk as a skunk, seemed to be leaning against the door and so he was knocked onto his arse on Elizabeth's wooden floor.

"Owwww!..." Tarleton whined. "Oh, Will! Will, William, Willy Willy... Willy Will." He began to laugh right there on the cold floor, causing William to roll his eyes.

"Don' youuu know it's--" More barking laughter overtook the inebriated dragoon. "It's bad luhck t' stop a man whil' 'e's singing!"

"Irrevelant. You can't recite that song here, there is a child present!" Tavington hissed, only it caused more hullabaloo from the smaller officer.

"Ohhhh, I seee! A child. Erm, yes. Is it yours?"

Tavington ignored this question and several of Tarleton's other drunken mumblings, at least the few that were coherent. Although the redhead's attempts at getting off the floor were unsuccessful, the larger officer refused to help him up. So he eventually lost consciousness altogether, Zacara cautiously went over to investigate, but trailed just behind William and hid behind his left calf.

"What's wrong with him?"

Tavington glanced down at her behind his shoulder.

"He had too much to drink."

"I drink too much juice sometimes, but I _never_ act like that!"

Despite himself, Tavington's breath released in puffs of amusement at a child's innocence. The Colonel, for no reason at all, felt like being nice and put Tarleton to bed. Zacara followed and watched the greencoat's sleeping form for a moment with Tavington.

"His red hair is really pretty. Do you think he would mind if I played with it?"

William widened his eyes and crouched down so that she was eye level with him.

"You mean, you'd like to brush it, and braid it, and decorate it with a set of glistening pink ribbons?" He asked her with mock excitement mounting in his voice.

"Yes? Can I? Pleeaaase??"

William couldn't help laughing at the image he pictured. Tarleton would certainly mind. Very much. An evil smirk spread across his face.

"I'm sure he would be more than happy to oblidge. I'll get his hairbrush."

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"William?"

"Hmm?..."

"Time to go to bed, man."

William opened his eyes to the white ceiling and Elizabeth partially leaning over her. The soldier sat up on the leather surface and stretched his aching muscles.

"Ohhhh... What time is it?"

"Only 9:00. But I guess Zacara must have worn you out! I'm sorry for leaving you, an emergency kind of came up at work and it tooI hope wasn't _too_ much of a handful."

William shook his head.

"Oh, I held my own. Has she gone back to her parents?"

"Yeah. She clearly enjoyed herself while you were asleep though." She nodded towards him, particularly his head. The dragoon already took a wild guess as to what she was referring to, but he still groaned when he felt his hair. Instead of being in its normal plait, he found that his chocolate tresses were constricted into two tight braids down the sides of his head. He also felt the silky texture of ribbons braided in. Wonderful.

"She simply couldn't resist... I suppose it serves me right. You know we did the same thing to Tarleton when he came home!"

Elizabeth's full lips twisted into a childlike grin.

"So I heard. Zacara had a _lot_ to say about you."

William apprehensively regarded the shorter woman. But her face was still lit up. All good things then.

"I'm getting ready to go to bed, I'll have to wake up early tomorrow..." Elizabeth grumbled to herself. "But before I do that, I have something for you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah!" The scientist's face lit up again with childlike excitement. From behind her back she revealed a piece of paper, carefully held at the corner between her fingers.

"Zacara made it, and wanted me to give it to you when you woke up."

William carefully took it, and Elizabeth disappeared to the bathroom. The soldier flipped it over to reveal a drawing of a horse, a black one with one leg left white. On top of it was a crude figure of a boy with brown hair-- him, he presumed-- holding a red apple. William's lips lifted into a smile before he could stop himself. So he carefully but the art on a desk in his room. He would store it somewhere safe later. For now, he _had_ to release his hair from its undignified prison!


	6. Chapter 6

Bordon finds unexpected solace in modern music. (Set a few days after the college party.)

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Richard Bordon walked alone on the stone walkways of one of several park areas on the university campus. This was the first time that he has ventured out into the outside world by himself. He wandered for hours, simply observing this foreign world silently.

Of course, the 21st century still confused and terrified him a great deal, and the more differences he observed, the more he missed living two centuries ago. Bordon was far over the shock of light-up screens, barely dressed women, and the way the people here did not give a care to propriety. Still, these were just examples of a long list of things that Bordon will have to learn to get used to.

Although his inner soul was in turmoil, his silence and imposing figure was enough to exude the aura of security and confidence that made grown men wary of him. Even though it was an illusion, it was enough for him to pass by and remain left alone by students and various faculty.

Richard stopped in his tracks at one sensation that he for once was familiar with: the rich notes of a cello. He allowed his ears and his feet to lead the way towards the instrument. As he grew closer, his ears picked up the grief that the notes conveyed, both from the strings and the fair maiden's voice that they accompanied.

' _Yesterday,_

 _All my troubles seemed so far away!_

 _Now it looks as though they're here to stay._

 _Oh, I_ believe

 _In yesterday_ '

Bordon eagerly but silently moved from behind the trees into a secluded corner of the park from where the source of the music came. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. From behind the wooden structure, he saw a girl playing the instrument that was almost as big as her. Everything about this woman seemed familiar: the long black hair that freely fell upon her shoulders, the skin upon her face that glew in the golden sunlight, the dark eyes filled with passion, even the very relaxed and natural way she swayed to the music she created. He saw her somewhere before, but... He ignored that for now and focused on the song.

She did not seem to notice the observer she has attracted, her eyes remained closed and her pure voice began the next verse with the beautiful vibrations of her instrument.

' _Suddenly,_

 _I'm not half the girl I used to be_

 _There's a shadow hanging over_ me

 _Oh, Yesterday came suddenly._

 _Why he had to go?_

 _I don't know, he wouldn't say._

 _I said something wrong,_

 _Now I long for yesterda-a-ey-ay..._ '

The beauty in such a song both astounded and fascinated Bordon. It was not the pretty yet empty chamber music that he was used to playing or dancing to, nor was it a bawdy tune that his comrades would sing in the taverns at night. This was a beautiful tragedy; raw pain and grief that made his heart swell with every melancholy note and lyric. He could not help but feel this introduction was for him; an outlet.

'Yesterday

 _Love was such an easy game to play!_

 _Now I need a place to hide away._

 _Oh, I believe In Yesterday._ '

The woman's head drooped forward as she sang the chorus, her black hair falling in bits all around her face. She can't have been much older than twenty, but the grief that she now expressed aged her years. Did she share such pain and loneliness as he?

She recited the chorus now and Bordon, remembering enough of it, felt confident enough to join. He sang quietly first, then his baritone voice grew stronger with her alto.

 _'Why she had to go?_

 _I don't know!_ _She wouldn't say._

 _I said something wrong,_

 _Now I long_ for _Yesterda-a-ey-_ ay

 _Yesterday,_

 _Love was such an easy game to_ play

 _Now I need a place to hide_ away

 _Oh, I_ believe

 _In Yesterday!_ '

The woman stared up at him now that her solo became a duet, her cello finished up the song with a slow escalation of notes. Then she lowered her bow.

Bordon looked down at her empty cello case and saw that the bottom of it was scattered with coins and paper bills. Complying with the courtesy, he showed his appreciation by pulling out the leftover money allotted to him by Dr. Smith earlier that morning. It was quite a meager amount (two 'dollars') but it was all he had left to throw into the case. Bordon then awkwardly nodded at the girl who stared up at the officer in astonishment.

"Uh-- Your performance was very pleasant indeed, enough to make even the most skilled singer or cellist grow with envy." His face turned just the slightest shade of pink as the compliments rolled awkwardly off of his tongue. He meant every word. The woman's pink lips gaped open in a pause.

"Oh! Uh, thanks. I like your voice too, it's very deep."

Bordon nodded again, then his head drooped downward towards his feet. He found himself acting very unusual despite himself, and he did not know why!

"Thank you ma'am." There was a pause as he tried to figure out what to say next. "What is that song called?"

The lady's eyes grew wide as she and her cello leaned forward.

"Yesterday by the Beatles. I'm surprised you don't know that song, it's been around forever!"

The features on Bordon's round face wrinkled and twisted in distaste. "The... _Beatles?_ As in the insects?"

"Oh, yes! They made hundreds of songs. Theirs were some of the first songs I learned. I wanna Hold Your Hand, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, Across the Universe--"

The man's eyebrows shot up in recognition and despite himself, he smiled and joyfully struck his hands together. "Ah! I know those songs!"

"See!? I could go on all day but... Hey what's your name by the way?"

"Richard Bordon, of London." He stiffly introduced, forcing himself to be serious and stable once again. The seated girl, however, remained a fireball of almost childlike excitement.

"Well, Richard Bordon of London, my name is Megan Liu, of Xiamen. But not since I was twelve. How long are you staying in America?"

Bordon sighed. "Hopefully not for long."

Miss Liu's face dropped just a bit. "Oh. I hope everything goes okay. In the meantime though, I've been playing for a while, and I'm really thirsty. Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee or something?"

"I have no more money left."

Her mouth dropped open again. "You gave the rest of your money, That's so sweet! My playing isn't even that great but-- I earned..."

Miss Liu's head popped down at her case, collecting the money and stuffing them in her pants pocket.

"...A lot... from this session, so I think I can afford to get you something too."

"I couldn't possibly accept your other with nothing to give you in return!" Bordon exclaimed, shaking his head in protest.

"Alright, then..." The woman's full, pink lips twisted in thought as she put her instrument away and folded the case.

"I'll pay you a cup of coffee in exchange for having somebody to talk to, alright?"

At this desperate implication, Bordon paused. The lady's brown eyes pleaded with hope. It seems that she does suffer from loneliness as well.

"Well, that seems quite fair, milady." He smiled at her, a very rare occurrence for him, and she radiantly grinned back.

And so they strolled toward a shop nearby, talking, taking solace in one another's company. In Bordon's mind another, more hopeful song played and began to gravitate towards his soul.

' _Hey Jude_

 _Don't make it_ bad

 _Take a sad_ song

 _and make it better..._ '


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

In which Amelia encounters several of James's sleeping troubles.

 **(TRIGGER WARNING: Nightmares and implied PTSD. Really, I never intended for this oneshot to be so heavy, but... I suppose I just went in another direction. Oops.)**

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He was doing it again.

Amelia groaned as she slammed her pillow over her head, trying to block out the sounds of Wilkins stumbling throughout the apartment. The first time she caught him sleepwalking, it terrified her.

It was one night his second week living with her. The large soldier's frame noisily trudged, collided, and mumbled in the dark, waking Amelia up. The woman discreetly shadowed him, making sure that he didn't leave or hurt himself. Occasionally, she would catch one or two words that James said in his sleep. Town. Orders. Honor. Torch. She didn't dare try to directly wake him up; she read somewhere that sleepwalking could be caused by some sort of trauma or stress. Clearly it appeared to be the case here.

The next morning, she confronted him about it. He had no idea what she was talking about, insisting that he did not have a problem. Wilkins did, however, appear to have a problem with her asking about the words. Although she desperately wanted to know, he roughly shut her down.

That night was more than a month ago. He and Amy have grown closer, but he still refused to tell her about the dreams that haunted his memory. His nightly "episodes" were only occasional, but by now they became less concerning and more annoying. Almost every time she would force herself to get up and look after him, but after working for sixteen hours straight that day...nope. She left M.A.R.S. to quietly do it for her. If only he would talk to somebody about this! He may not admit that he has a problem, but soon enough he'll have another one... with her!

When everything finally grew quiet, Amy let out a relieved sigh, placing her pillow back in its correct place. She tugged the blankets and sheets over her thin frame up to her chin. Without a doubt, she would find the man in some sort of odd or awkward position in the morning, but she was far too exhausted to care. As long as James was settled down and didn't--

The creaking of the bedroom door startled the startled the scientist, her entire body stiffened under the thick covers. Realizing it was a still-asleep James, Amy sat up with a groan and blearily stared ahead, where her dim green night-light at the doorway displayed the ex-captain's lurking form.

"James, go back to your room," Amy grumbled.

He did not seem to hear her, or if he did it had the opposite effect. Instead of leaving, Wilkins stumbled across the clutter-filled room towards the bed. Amy reached for the lamp on her dresser, in hope that the light may wake him up, but her hand barely grazed the switch when she felt a dip in the bed. Great.

"James!" Amelia whined as she felt the slumbering man crawl his way beneath the covers until he was met with her warmth. She wanted to kick, thrash, anything to wake him up. However, her intentions were foiled when two muscular arms wrapped themselves around her thin frame from behind, restricting the movement of her arms and her legs.

In addition, it put her in a very awkward position. Apart from that one night when he was drunk, Wilkins has _never_ deliberately cuddled with her, sleeping or otherwise! Especially not in bed. Now however, she could feel his mouth gently releasing warm puffs of breath against the back of her neck. She felt his cold chest pressing against the flesh of her back. As well as something near her bottom that she would rather not think about. The dragoon's cold arms shifted around Amelia, pulling her closer, and she realized something that she failed to notice before as her hands reached behind and tried to push his body away.

James was half-naked.

"Okay, time to wake up."

The woman attempted to squirm out of James's grasp, but his hold was tight as his face buried deep into the nest of dark coils that rested all over Amy's head.

"Warm..." The man unconsciously murmured. Amy thrashed as hard as she could and still, nothing. Damn, he'd sleep through the zombie apocalypse!

So she lay there, trying to drift off to sleep. But that was a very difficult thing to do when one considers the very shirtless man that curled up behind her. She kept hoping that he would wake up, realize where he was and how he was dressed--or not dressed, rather. But no. He softly snored behind her, the only changes were the occasional sigh or gentle squeeze of his arms. She tried her best not to move, as she discovered that although it did not wake him up, the slightest movement will cause a certain organ of his to.

And the worst part? The longer she lay in front of him, the longer he held her, the more she began to actually like the contact. Oh sure, it biologically made sense, as humans are very social beings that respond to touch. But she normally grew so uncomfortable when her personal space was invaded, even by her own family! Why was it different now, with a man who doesn't belong here and is destined to eventually disappear?

With an incredibly rare 'what the hell' moment, Amelia shifted, feeling the dark hairs on his chest lightly brush her arms as she flipped over so she was facing him. The dim amount of light in Amy's room allowed her to pick out some of his features. One side of his face was squished up against the pillow, so only half was visible. He looked peaceful, just like he did when she first saw him, before he woke up to the harsh reality of being displaced in time. His mouth still hung open as he breathed, and she started to liken James's relaxed, chiseled features to those of Christopher Reeves' Superman.

Amelia reluctantly allowed herself to relax more at his touch, even reciprocating his embrace by draping one scrawny arm over his torso. The other unconsciously rested against his left pectoral, the fingers smoothed down the hair under one collarbone. Then she froze when she felt his grip on her loosen, her eyes popped open, she glanced up from where her head rested against the crook of his neck.

"No..." The man's mouth formed the barely audible word, but Amy heard it. His face twisted in anguish, but his eyes were still shut. It was likely the same nightmare. Honor. Orders. Torch. Church. Screams.

In that moment, James transformed into a thrashing mess of desperate shouts. He wanted to save them. Save who? They were ghosts now, ghosts that appeared to haunt his mind. Amy disentangled her body from his and sat up. She was at a loss of what to do. This was not one of his normal dreams that would cause him to raid the fridge or the dvd case at night. This was much worse. Still, she dared not wake him up.

After what seemed like hours but was really only about three minutes, he stopped fighting his nightmare and collapsed back into the sheets, seemingly in exhaustion. This allowed Amelia to lay back as well, but this stage was not an improvement. Still in his fitful slumber, the soldier curled in on himself, a vulnerable boy, the sparkle of tears formed between his dark lashes.

"Hey, hey, hey...shhh..." Amelia softly tried to comfort the traumatised man. Albeit, very awkwardly and ineffectively. She gently curled up against his shaking frame again, one hand found its way to his face, gently wiping away the wetness on his cheeks.

James shivered and flinched away from the touch on his face. Then he whimpered, his arms found her again. She stared helplessly at his broken face twisted in agony and her long fingers reached behind, combing through his curly hair and gently brushing against his scalp and the back of his neck. James did not wake up once, he was trapped in his pain. She continued to smooth down his curls, helplessly watching the poor man uncontrollably bawl in his sleep. Eventually his shaky sobs gradually regulated and slowed until they became the deep breaths normal in a sleeping human. He slept calmly again. His features relaxed, although not completely, under the shine from his spilled tears.

"There there... good boy. You're okay..." Amy whispered, patting his back and holding him in a tender manner that surprised her a great deal.

Amy began to regard him in a very different way over the course of his stay, she supposed. He was no longer that intruder in her life, even tonight after he stumbled into her room and her bed uninvited. Amelia liked her solitude, but she couldn't really object to having James with her. At least, not right this minute. He was her friend, and he needed her right now.

Finally, she drifted off to sleep with him until late the next morning. She remained unaware when the sun rose, when James woke up confused in her bed, and when he slunk out embarrassed at her proximity with him in such an undressed state! Amelia also was unable to witness the moment when he admitted to himself that, perhaps, he did in fact have a problem.


	8. Chapter 8

The first time Elizabeth takes William and Ban to go grocery shopping.

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The drive to Walmart was ridiculously long, well at least it was for Elizabeth. The two officers that she was responsible for were seated in the backseat, and all three grew quite impatient at the packed traffic. The commercial break over the radio ended and a the guitar into from 'When Doves Cry' cut through the car speakers. Tavington curled his lip upwards in a sneer at the vocal sound affects before the rhythm from the drums and synthesizer were established.

"It still astounds me what is considered music these days. Just listen to that rhythm! It's incredibly primal and animalistic! And far too chaotic as well, what even are some of those instruments?" He begrudgingly whispered to his comrade, too quiet for for Elizabeth to hear.

" _I_ find this song entertaining!" Banastre argued indignatly, only to be rebuffed with a scoff.

"You would. Several of these lyrics are questionable as well." Tavington inclined his head at the radio. Tarleton smirked after he continued to listen after the first verse.

"--Animals strike curious poses! They feel the heat, the heat between me and you--"

He disagreed with Tavington however. The lyrics were not questionable, they were absolutely scandalous! That is why he was shocked when he heard Elizabeth absentmindedly singing along as she drove the metal carriage. Shocked, then amused. Could it be that this seemingly shy and reserved girl had a dirty side hidden beneath? He hoped so.

Finally, Elizabeth stopped her car along a row of others. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she climbed out and headed for a huge tan structure with the words 'Wal-Mart' mounted. Tarleton and Tavington followed her, staring at the building with equal amounts of apprehension.

"This is a market?" Tavington asked the girl.

"Yeah. It sells pretty much anything that we might need."

Elizabeth continued to walk through the automatic doors after she pulled a cart out of its resting place. She almost reached the end of the scanners, but she felt that the men were not behind her.

With a turn of her head, she found both colonels inspecting the automatic door in awe and fear.

"Do you think it's magic?" She faintly heard Banastre whisper to Tavington.

"I don't know..." William met the patient yet expectant gaze of their companion a mere few yards away and both reluctantly decided to ignore their curiosity and rejoin her. William scanned the area that he was confronted with. He straightened himself up and adopted a nonchalant mask of sorts, attempting to cover up the overwhelming sensation that was caused by both the size and the abundance of things inside the store.

"Alright, where was I?" Tavington just faintly heard the woman near him muse. He was otherwise occupied by attempting to guess at the purpose of the curious row of stalls near the exits. Then he turned his head back and begrudgingly caught up to Elizabeth and Tarleton in an area that displayed piles of various fruits and vegetables.

Tavington was a very introspective man, and he liked to pride himself on his ability to hide any nagging thoughts or emotions within. Tarleton however, tended to wear his heart on his sleeve. Such was the case now. As Tavington calmly and elegantly paced himself to follow Elizabeth through the produce, Banastre somehow seemed to trail behind and ahead at once. He was like a hummingbird, or rather a child with a short attention span. He hyperactively flitted about, trying to take in everything that he could.

"My god... Are those pineapples?" Banastre exclaimed and strided towards the prickly golden pyramid stacked in the black carton. Taking a closer look, he grinned and let out a scoff. His rather loud and odd behavior attracted the attention of one nearby shopper, silently questioning the blonde trailing behind him with one pointed gaze.

"He's ah... not from here. This is his first time visiting an American grocery store." Elizabeth explained and awkwardly nodded until the stranger shrugged and sidled away. Then she caught up to Banastre, who has proceeded to pick up one of the tropical delicacies to study it.

"I have never had the pleasure to see a pineapple in person before! They were so rare-- and here lays an entire pile of them? And for five uh... dollars. Is that a large amount of currency?" Tarleton's sparkling brown eyes raised to meet Elizabeth, who had deftly shook her head.

"Yet another modern miracle!" He exclaimed, only to have Elizabeth grin wider than before.

"Do you want one?" Banastre eagerly nodded and Elizabeth took the fruit from him and tossed it in the basket of her cart. The trio finally moved on after grabbing bananas, apples, mangoes, celery, avocados, and other assorted fruits and vegetables. Of course, primarily imported produce that grabbed the soldier's attention just because of the novelty.

Then the soldiers led the way down the food aisles, studying the containers slowly and inquiring as to their uses. William found the packaged meat section particularly interesting for example, and he refused to proceed forward until Elizabeth agreed to buy him a package of hot dogs. She was sure that if he knew exactly how they were made he wouldn't have been so adamant but hey, whatever the boys wanted, the boys got. Unfortunately, these requests from both men also consisted of instant Mac 'n Cheese, microwave popcorn, chicken noodle soup, pop tarts, chips, even more soup, and that's where Elizabeth lost track. Eventually the shopping cart was mostly filled with assorted boxed and canned foods.

On her way to the dairy section, she glanced at the groceries and mentally calculated the total. She came up with... well, a lot. William trailed obediently behind her, appearing to amuse himself by inspecting all of the different brands and flavors of pop.

"Alright, I'll be right back to get the last things we need. Just please don't put anything else in the cart, alright? Alright..."

Elizabeth quickly strided over to one very refrigerated corner of the store and grabbed a gallon on milk and a carton of eggs (two of the very few things she _actually_ came in there for!), and returned to the cart. She spotted William right where she left him at the beverage aisle. Banastre however, was missing.

"Oh, Jesu--uh..." She scanned the whole area around her, seeing the flash of his auburn hair nowhere.

"Dammit!"

With William begrudgingly trailing behind, Elizabeth searched the store to hunt Banastre down.

"Hmm... Am I the only one who believes it would be less trouble to simply leave him here?" William rolled his eyes, but the side of his mouth quirked up when Elizabeth scoffed at him.

"Uh... yeah it might be, to be honest. But I'm not going to do that."

It took them a good fifteen minutes but he was finally found. In the women's clothing department, of all places. Banastre spotted them coming from the corner of his eye and in a panic hid his hands behind his back and did his best to look innocent.

"Good, there you are! What were you doing just--" Elizabeth attempted to question Banastre, but unfortunately William's attentions have shifted to something else entirely.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tavington gestured to what Tarleton had apparently spent so much time browsing: the racks of various bras and panties.

"Are the people in this age really so shameless that they would display lady's undergarments in such a blatant manner? It's simply so--" Tavington's words got caught in his tangent and he ended up making strangled noises in his throat before cutting himself off entirely. At this, Banastre found the opportunity to tease him.

"Well, I don't see why you're so embarrassed. After all, you _have_ seen your fair share of them before!" The shorter man chuckled and glanced at Elizabeth, who turned red and directed her gaze to the floor. Banastre's mirth only grew. Tavington seemed to recover and sent a hard glare his way.

"Of course, _you_ do not seem at all uncomfortable at the impropriety! How long have you been here oogling delicates?"

Banastre's gaze shifted from Tavington to Elizabeth, who had managed to get over her own shyness enough to meet his eyes expectantly. Then he sighed.

"Long enough to have the ability to move on now from it now. I'm certain that we have finished collecting what we need?"

"Yeah, we have more than enough actually. Let's go." Elizabeth grabbed the cart and slowly strolled away. At this point she didn't really care if the pair followed or not.

And neither did, they lagged behind for a few moments while Banastre cautiously revealed what he was holding and took another moment to gaze upon it. William glanced down at it and his face began to heat up. It was a corset, a tiny one that was clearly only intented to cover breasts. The garment was quite pretty as well, turquoise in color and decorated with tiny pink hearts in the pattern and purple lace. William snatched it from Tarleton's hands, both to return it and to quickly sate his own curiosity. Although Tavington's fascination was hidden well enough, Tarleton knew him long enough to spot it and gloated up at him with a sneer.

"Soft, isn't it? I believe Elizabeth has that one." Tavington's head briefly snapped to the inattentive woman before glaring back at his comrade. He was well prepared to scold him. Tavington was comfortable with betting over taking a lady's virtue, but snooping through her personal items was where he drew the line.

"She left it in the washroom. It certainly did not appear to be a scandal for her!" Tarleton snatched the garment back and returned it to the shelf, chuckling. "Perhaps it will take both of us time to learn to get used to the impropriety."

The irony was not lost on Tavington, as irritated as he was. A retort about Tarleton likely _already_ becoming quite used to it crossed William's mind, but remained stuck in his throat. With that, the shorter officer carelessly strutted towards the checkout with Elizabeth.

 _'What a damned_ _debauncher!'_ William fumed and furiously marched to catch up with his companions.

The interactions between the two officers remained tense, as they silently waited in the checkout line, as they both took over loading the food onto the conveyer belt, and as they established an unspoken competition as to who can load the most bags into the car. This passive aggressive change was in fact noticed by Elizabeth, but she simply shrugged it off. This rivalry between them was commonplace by her experience, it was similar to a brotherhood rivalry she supposed. Even if she was wrong... well at least she doesn't have to worry about carrying all her groceries up to the apartment anymore!


	9. Chapter 9

**Yet another thing that was going on in the background while all the stuff with Elizabeth and the 'T-Twins' went down. Richard and Megan have been aquaitences for a while, and she is trying to introduce him to new stuff.**

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Megan's lithe form restlessly flitted back and forth across the bar, picking up abandoned glasses and wiping off liquids. It was the end of her shift, and only a few people remained in the bar at this time of day. A good majority of the people who liked to hang around here were probably in their classes. She could go home for a few hours before she went to class herself, just as soon as she cleaned up! This lack of company also meant that she had her earbuds in.

' _I saw my baby, crying hard as babe could cry!_

 _What could I do?_

 _My baby's love had gone, and left my baby blue!_

 _Nobody knew!_ '

She hummed a bit to herself, not really caring to pay attention to anything around her, until a tap on her shoulder startled her. She jumped with a squeal and ripped her earbuds out.

"Aaah! What? The bar is closed right now and--" Megan quickly turned, cutting herself off. It wasn't just some random stranger asking for another drink. It was Richard. He stood tall and looked really... flustered. Yeah, that was a good word for it.

"I called your name four times woman! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just playing music, that's all."

Bordon frowned, in confusion she guessed, even though she silently explained by displaying the ends of her earbuds to him. Weird.

"What was is that you wanted, man?"

"Oh, yes!...Ah, I'm terribly sorry Miss Liu. I know you are otherwise preoccupied, but there is no other employees present and--" He cut himself off, realizing that he started on a tangent. Her expectant gaze simply made him feel so nervous, with no bloody explanations he could think of as to why!

Bordon placed his guard back up, expertly forcing his body to go rigid. He silently placed his finding, a foreign looking white rectangle with strange buttons and a black cord attached to it. Then he started again, this time aiming to get to the point so that he could leave her at peace.

"I believe a customer left this here. I found it at a table in the back corner."

Megan's eyes widened as recognition crossed over her face. She quickly snatched it off of the counter and held it up to her face in what was either adoration or disbelief.

"Oh my god! I've been looking for this thing forever! Thanks, dude!"

Bordon acknowledged her gratitude with a curt nod, although his face was lit up just a bit.

"'Tis my pleasure, ma'am. If I may though, what exactly..." He insecurely trailed off. "What-what on Earth is it?"

"Wait, you don't know what this is?"

The soldier shook his head. Miss Liu's mouth gaped into an 'O' and confusion unwittingly filled up inside of Bordon. Was the device important? Was it something that absolutely everyone possessed, such as Doctor Smith's intelligent phone? This realization made the admittance of his ignorance rather embarrassing, although he knew that it was not his fault. He held still as Miss Liu traveled around the counter to his side, still holding the white box.

"Man, you must live under a rock! It's called an IPod. I guess I'll just have to show you what it does." The girl's lithe body was a stark contrast to his broad frame as they stood facing each other. Miss Liu absentmindedly backed into a seat and looked down at the black cord she was patiently unraveling. Richard's cobalt eyes scanned up and down her while she was not watching him.

Everything about her was odd and unusual to him, the torn tight trousers and black leather jacket with embroidered flowers she wore, the dark dramatic makeup she put on over her golden face. And these are but a few examples that he manged to pick up on the surface. She seemed to have no care for propriety or conventional beauty. She was so... free. He found himself wishing that he could break away just like her, and her nonconformity has become an endearment for him more than anything else. Finally, her warm eyes lifted to meet his and she gave him one rounded end of the cord.

"Put it in your ear."

Richard did not. He scrutinized the object trying to determine if it would hurt his ear canal. But the woman next to him stuffed it in and she seemed fine! So with a small huff he reluctantly obeyed. Immediately he was met with a loud din that made him jump. Then he listened closer, at the beat, the melody.

" _\-- Dance magic dance!_

 _Dance Magic Dance!_

 _Put that baby spell on me!_

 _Jump magic Jump!_

 _Jump magic Jump!..._ '

Bordon almost couldn't believe it! He was somewhat familiar of the technology of the day, but he never imagined the manmade miracle that was portable music! A change came over Bordon, his body relaxed and awe spread all over the rounded features of his face. Clearly the shift in his behavior was noticed by Miss Liu, she grinned up at him obviously endeared.

"It's pretty great, right? David Bowie is a genius!"

Bordon laughed, perhaps more loudly than what was necessary, but half of his hearing was obstructed after all!

"I've never heard him before, but that he is!" He half declared, half shouted.

"You haven't? Yeah, you need to watch Labrynth, then."

"Labrynth?"

"Mmm-hmm! It's a movie that I have, and watched about a hundred times. Probably since it's a musical, I kind of collect those. If you want, I can show it to to you!"

"That would be more than adequate." Bordon grasped the thin black ribbon and pulled it out of his ear. "When?"

"Right now if you want!"

The man blinked, but an amused grin threatened to overtake him. "Right now?"

"Yeah!" Bordon shrugged.

"Why not? Lead the way ma'am."

At this, the pair exited the tavern and strolled down the pathway.

"By the way Richard, you don't have to keep calling me ma'am or Miss Liu. Those are both what people call my mother. We're friends, you can call me Megan. Or even Liu Chen, if you want."

"Liu Chen?" The foreign name rolled off of Bordon's tongue awkwardly, and the girl next to her nodded with a giggle.

"My real name. Megan is really more of a nickname, but I like it."

"I will call you whatever you like. But after we see this tale, could you show me how to use this IPod contraption and where I might get one?"

"Of course! Also you can have the one you found. I sort of... replaced it after I thought it was lost forever."

After he thanked her, there was a moment of awkward silence as they continued to walk., but she broke it.

"Hey Richard?" His face turned, in rapt attention.

"Hmm?"

"You remind me of the babe." His brow furrowed at this random comment.

"What babe?"

"Oh, The babe with the power." Megan nonchalantly responded, carelessly kicking a tiny pebble with her foot.

"What power?"

"The power of voodoo!" Now this alarmed Richard, his shoulders tensed and his eyes widened at her.

"Voodoo?"

"You do!"

"Do what?"

"Remind me of the babe!" At this, Megan struggled to hold in her laughter, especially when she watched Richard throw up his arms and scoff when he realized he was tricked. But although he appeared irate, he was laughing too.

"My, that was clever! I think I will have to trick Wilkins in this same manner."

Bordon really did not remember ever enjoying himself as much as he did when he was with Megan. It felt wrong to him, somehow. He may never see his home or his family again, it would seem dishonorable to enjoy himself too much here! It would seem like he has forgotten about them. Yet, at the same time he had no desire to make himself miserable anymore. And so, he followed Megan to her home, which was surprisingly in the building directly next door to the homes of Doctor Smith and Doctor Bradford! What was the phrase that irritating song used? It's a Small World After All!


	10. Chapter 10

**Elizabeth receives comfort from an unlikely source, and Banastre learns of** **fairytales in space.**

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It was late at night on an evening before the scientist had to work, and Elizabeth was still up. Her restless state had nothing to do with her anxiety for once. If anything, thinking only worsened her condition. No, it was cramps and nausea keeping the woman awake and sitting up on her couch!

She groaned for what must have been the hundreth time and held her abdomen tighter. Her monthly subscription to Lucifer's waterfall always came with harsh side affects for her on the first day. This was also the first month she had to experience it while living with men and that was a very awkward hurtle for her. It seemed silly in theory, but her face still blazed with embarrassment when she had to explain the purpose of the pads and tampons that William found under the bathroom sink. And that was only two days ago! At least today the symptoms were tamed enough so that she could hide that anything was wrong. Now that they were asleep however, that was when she suffered the most.

Elizabeth's closed eyes widened into saucers and her previously lethargic body sprang to life when her stomach complained even louder than before. The woman flew off of the cushioned leather and raced to the bathroom. Just managing to flick the light on in her frenzy, she squatted in front of the toilet. Elizabeth's shaking hands grasped gold strands away from her face while her stomach decided to purge out every offending morsel of food that she dared to put in the previous afternoon. She was lost in her misery, but a small part of her mind did subconsciously register the lean body kneeling next to her, and two hands that held the rest of her hair up and firmly rubbing her back. Her breath was ragged when she was done, the strong hand patted her between the shoulder blades and a lilting voice murmured near her ear.

"That's it, just breath. Deep breaths, now. Tsk, tsk, you poor thing..."

It was Banastre's voice. His hands continued to coax her, until her breath finally evened out and much of the nausea subsided until only dull pain was left. She found the strength to stand, aided by the man next who her. Worry was sketched all over his boyish features. She was certain that he must be thinking the worst, of the disease and death that raged in epidemics back in his time. She just managed to find her voice, though it was croaky and crackly.

"I'll--I'll be alrigh', Ban. They're just girl problems, okay?"

This conformation that she was not about to die did give Tarleton relief, but it also alarmed him at the possibility of another matter. He could only think of one other condition that would explain Beth's sickness and -- Banastre shook his head, both in denial and panic.

"Is it Tavington's?"

The woman's mind was still functional enough to get at what he meant, her face scrunched up as she stared a good few inches up at his face in indignation.

"Wha-- Don't be ridiculous! It's my... damn, what was it called back then?" Elizabeth moaned and doubled over, clutching the part of her abdomen that told her she has been standing for too long. Realization, and embarrassment, dawned on Banastre. He gently took her arm and led Elizabeth out of the bathroom.

"Good lord, it's that bad? I'll help you to your room so that you may lie down--"

"It hurts to lie down, I wasn't in bed because of that."

"Alright, alright, then..." Banastre supported her until they reached the leather structure in the living room. She carefully plopped down in the far left seat, her body curled in of herself and her arms crossed over the soft flesh of her stomach. He perched next to her, with very little ideas concerning what he must do!

Now, Banastre was not dumb or inexperienced, he had an idea of what ladies had to suffer during their monthlies. It was just that... he was accustomed to _women_ dealing with them! Ah, but poor Elizabeth had no one of the fairer sex to aid her, not at this time of night. It was only he, and he could not leave her alone after the incident in the bathroom! He _would_ not. Tarleton shuffled in his seat, far too insecure than what made him comfortable. He spent several moments fretting over her, and covering up his awkwardness by doing one of the things he does best: talking.

"Well, I feel the deepest sympathies for you my dear. Having to feel ill every month! How _do_ menses feel, anyway? I hear the most awful stories..." He took only a miniscule pause, a blink and it could have been missed. "Nevermind, I don't think I want to know for certain. And somehow this pain is making you... sound different, Beth. Not just your voice quality, it's something else..."

"My accent, you mean." Elizabeth glanced up at him. "It's just my 'Oklahoman comin' out, like it does whenever I don't feel like coverin' it up."

Elizabeth actually didn't notice the trace of midwestern twang in her voice until Banastre pointed it out. It just slipped out sometimes when she didn't realize it. The way she talked -all aspects of it really- used to be popular target for ridicule, so it was no suprise that she usually did her best to sound 'normal.'She trained to use rounded vowels, carefully pronounced consonants, and slow pacing to prevent too much stumbling over her words. But whenever she was sick she never bothered with all of that, and the results made Elizabeth sound, well, very different.

"I believe I like it." Banastre's arm stretched across her shoulders and his chocolate eyes gazed down at her stout form affectionately. Elizabeth found herself smiling a bit.

"Well, at least someone enjoys this oddity of mine. Whenever Amy takes it upon herself to care for me she would keep callin' me a cowgirl." He was not sure what to say to this. His first instict was to ask her what on earth a cow-girl was, but the sudden manner in which she curled in on herself even tighter and rested her head against his shoulder told him that she has finished talking.

"Hmm. It's awfully quiet in here, don't you think? Might it help if I put on one of your recorded plays, as a distraction?"

Elizabeth nodded and Tarleton abandoned her only to search the stacks of plastic cases until he found one in particular that interested him. This container was much larger than the others- book of disks, really- decorated with a curious array of characters! A man made out of gold, a curious silver and blue creature, a dark figure in a mask, and a vast array of other people holding swords composed out of light. The wonderfully unusual display was complete with only two words, drawn in thin yellow lines.

"Star... Wars?"

"If you want to watch that, put in 'A New Hope' first."

The soldier searched through six disks, and placed the one she requested onto the ejected tray. Although he had very little knowledge of the vast collection of plays Elizabeth kept, he liked to say he has become an expert in utilizing the box that brought forth such wonderful imagery! He sat back down at his place next to Elizabeth while she fiddled with the control stick. But not before he switched the light switch to the blacklights, partially so that the film was more clearly seen and partially because he could not resist the ambiance of both of them being under the outer space that Elizabeth created on the ceiling!

"Good choice, by the way. This series is one of my favorites. I think you might like it as well."

"Oh? Well, it can't be that bad if you enjoy it."

Banastre chuckled and his hands somehow found their way around her once again. He was quite accustomed to Elizabeth recoiling or stiffening whenever he tried to touch her, but this time she did not. If anything, the girl leaned into the contact and allowed him to give some relief for her pain. He supposed that this silent permission was a rare opportunity and he intended to take it, even just to comfort her. For extra measure, he grabbed a blanket discarded on the far end of the furniture and wrapped the thick artificial fleece over both of them. He looked up just in time for the very start of the film.

 _'A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..."_

Soon enough, Ban read the procession of paragraphs describing war between an evil galactic empire and a band of plucky rebels. He was quite enraptured at the procession, as well as the majestic fanfare of horns and strings. This mezmerisation only increased when the words and music faded away into a starry sky for only a moment. The only thing he payed attention to was the space battle that he could liken to pirates and the navy, then the chaos that ensued when the white armored foot soldiers boarded the smaller starship. Some war matters he was familiar with, but certainly not the usage of muskets that shot out red streaks of fire! And this beautiful princess was certainly no damsel in distress, even when confronted by the black metal mass that appeared to be the villain in this tale.

" _You are part of the rebel alliance, and a traitor! Take her away!"_

Well, Banastre could not really say that he disagreed with this Vadar fellow's motives as of yet, although the magic that he used to strangle people alarmed him.

Elizabeth's uncomfortable shifting was the only thing that brought him to the present. He briefly abandoned the plight of Artoo-Deetoo and See-freepeo to regard the lady with concern once again.

"Are you alright? Do you have to..." He trailed off when Elizabeth shook her head and tried to relax again. He took notice of the way she kept clutching at the fleshy areas that clearly turned into a battlefield within her. His hands found themselves grasping lower, slowly.

"May I? Allow me."

Elizabeth did allow him to help, albeit hesitantly. Ban gently applied pressure and warmth with one hand. The girl's belly was soft, and plump enough for him to knead and rub the pain away. His hand also moved to give her wide hips and thick thighs the same treatment, just briefly and occasionally enough to get away with it, before he continued to massage her abdomen.

He did this rather absentmindedly as he watched the events in the far away galaxy progress. He hissed in horror when the Tusken raiders attacked Luke Skywalker and the golden droid. He listened to the elderly wizard's description of his own deity, the force, with surprising fascination. Banastre found himself hating the empire just as much as the rebels when they cruelly demonstrated the power of their 'Death Star'on Leia's defenseless planet. He remembered only feeling a little relief at Elizabeth's pain starting to subside, as that was when the charming rogue, Han Solo, confronted and shot the green fish alien in the tavern. Much later, when the Millennium Falcon was pulled into the giant space weapon, he barely registered the weight of Elizabeth's body curled across his lap. It was far from usual for Banastre Tarleton to ignore the company of a lady, but the play he was watching was rather unusual as well. And he was hooked.

Finally, the rebellion celebrated their great triumph of destroying the empire's planet destroyer, and the former British officer found himself celebrating as well. Very surprising to him, as anywhere else he hated rebels. Still, he rooted for the side that possessed the boy on the journey of becoming a hero and a legend, much like the ones that a younger Banastre identified with the most when he grew up reading about Lancelot, Hamlet, and so many others.

"That was wonderful! It was one of the best stories I've ever heard! Shall we watch the next one?" Finally, Banastre looked down at Elizabeth, only to find that she had fallen into a peaceful slumber. Then he watched the clock. It was well past midnight, my how he's lost track of the time!

"I suppose that is a no, then." With that, Ban gathered the girl up in his arms and put her to bed. After he deposited the covers over her, he couldn't resist a soft stroke on her cheek and a kiss on her forehead.

"Goodnight." Banastre tenderly whispered at her bedside, before departing for his own room. "I look forward to watching more of this tale when you are better, my love."

Later on, Banastre and Elizabeth do find the time to watch the rest of the series, just the two of them. The girl simply couldn't resist; he was one of the very few people she knew that had unspoiled ignorance going in about Luke's father, and she had to be there to watch his reaction!

 **Wow, this took a long time to write. Sorry about that, but it's maybe one of the longest of these I've ever done! And it's a little too uh, wordy, for my liking as well, but then again Banastre was in this one! Enough said, I guess.**


	11. Chapter 11

Two officers are introduced to fast food, and awkwardness insues over a napkin.

 **This one is set** **shortly after all of the boys end up in the future, and we see Amelia's struggles with taking care of 18th century men.** **Really sorry that it has been a while since I updated, but take this super long chapter as a token of my apology!**

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"Would you be so kind as to inform us where we are going instead of blindly leading us?" Major Bordon griped at the thin girl as he and James followed her down the street.

"We're just getting something to eat real quick." Amelia quickly answered before she fell into silence once again. From directly to his right, Wilkins could hear Bordon mutter under his breath, something about her apparent inability to cook, and the captain had to restrain his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. Now, it wasn't that he blamed the Englishman for his sour mood. Hell, these new and unheard of circumstances were a reality that they all had to come to terms with somehow! However his surly and at times pedantic behaviors were normal for the Major, and if Wilkins was forced to hear one more complaint about every little detail within this new world he felt that he was going to delve into madness! Amelia led them further, towards a red building with bright glowing yellow arches.

"Well, here we are!" Miss Smith's suddenly chipper voice only barely registered in the dragoon's head as he stared up at the bright 'M.'

"Mc...Donalds? Huh. It... doesn't look like much." With a shrug, Wilkins crossed his arms and eyed the place with feigned indifference. In truth, he was attempting to cover up his insecurity.

"Well, I guess you're okay with leading the way then?" James's eyes met Miss Smith's hazel ones as she swept her dark ringlets away from her face with a chuckle. One skinny, dark arm stretched out next to and behind her as an open invitation for him to move ahead. He bit back a remark and stiffly marched towards the red building with his nose in the air. A brave front for a soldier charging into the front lines. And he was almost there, but his courageous exterior cracked when he unknowingly stepped in front of a car that was backing out of its space. The man unleased a startled yelp as it lightly struck his left side and the sudden, ungodly din from the carriage caused him to quickly scurry away like a giant mouse.

"What the hell are you doing man?"

Now out of the way, James breathed heavily as he stared after the car and the young man driving it. He froze up like a frightened deer, and it took Amelia physically leading him to get where he intended to go. He started to recover though, once he was inside. His wide eyes scanned the overly-lit area-- it was like a tavern, but a very unusual one at that. For one thing, the kitchen was in plain sight and bustled with activity and far too many people to cook at one time! It also seemed that customers must wait in line to purchase their food rather than wait at a table. So that is what Wilkins did, joined by Bordon and Smith.

"I don't know what any of these things are... And why on earth would you put a fish filet in between two slices of bread?"

"I don't like their fish sandwiches, they're nasty." Smith responded to James's musings. "I prefer the the number 4, myself."

"The... quarter-pounder with cheese?"

"Yeah."

"I still have no idea what that is, but I guess I could try it..."

From the picture, it still looked a damn sight more appetizing than 'chicken nuggets!' He hoped that nuggets' did not mean what he suspected, if so... Why on God's Green Earth would they be served as a delicacy? He held back a shudder as he stepped forward in the line. Soon enough it was Wilkins' turn and in a voice that was forcibly gruff and guarded, he ordered his supper.

"Okay uh..." The young boy behind the counter pressed his finger into the little black box in front of him, and Wilkins could see his order appear in glowing green letters.

"What size would you like?"

"Large...please." Whatever modern delicacy he about to be confronted with now, he was willing to eat the quantity that a small army could consume. Taste or texture be damned, he had a long day moving furniture and clutter around and he was hungry!

"Your total is seven-fifty."

At this, the massive soldier's body deflated and uncertainty crept in once again. Seven-fifty what? Surely he didn't mean seven hundred and fifty of any coin!

"I'm paying for him, and for the guy behind him." Smith piped up and crept forward in the line, handing the boy green rectangles of paper, with the faces of men on them. Was that General Washington on one of them? The exchange was so quick he could not tell properly. No... no, that was impossible.

His gaze was focused downward and he stood frozen in place, until the acne-infested whelp behind the counter shoved an empty white cup at him. The distracted southerner took the cup from his hands, swept his large form out of the way and retreated without bothering to give the kid the stink eye as he usually would have. His elbow rested against a metal counter, he turned his head suddenly and that was when he took notice of the odd appliance on the counter, and the giant glowing red rectangle with 'Coca Cola' emblazoned on the front. His brow furrowed as he silently attempted to guess its purpose (none of which were even remotely correct of course) when a stranger approached it from his peripheral.

"Excuse me." She meekly phrase without looking up at his towering frame, and he kindly stepped aside with a polite bow of his head.

"My apologies, Miss."

The young lady placed her white cup over the black bars that lay horizontally over what he could describe as a miniature trench, and pressed it forward under a chute that was labeled 'ICE.' Astonishment and realization lit up his chiseled features when he watched her replace the cup, now halfway filled with frozen cubes of water, under the chute that read 'Sprite.' Oh of course, that was where he was supposed to get his beverage from! Sure, why not?

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A short time later, far shorter than either of the officers expected, Amelia approached the table where they had settled carrying a tray that was absolutely piled with enough food to feed a small army. As soon as she placed it, the surprisingly tempting aroma made James waste no time. He took one red carton filled with yellow sticks and scooted it closer to him, then grabbed the round, paper wrapped form that was identical to the one that Amelia claimed.

"Where are the forks?" Bordon's baritone voice piped up from his seat on the edge of the booth.

"We don't have any. We use our hands for this stuff."

"But it's greasy!" The major complained after he took one hot french fry and proceeded to drop back in its place in the carton. Wilkins scoffed as he tenatavely unwrapped his burger.

"I suppose it will only serve as another excuse for you to wash your hands again, won't it Bordon?" His mouth curled into a smug grin when the officer huffed and silently brought his attention back to his supper. The convenience of indoor plumbing has made hygiene standards far tighter. The 21st century habit of daily washings, although an overindulgence based on his experience, was something that he and Bordon both had no trouble embracing. However, only Bordon insisted on utilizing the hand sinks as often as he could, so much that the skin has begun to turn raw. So while the other officer fussed a bit over the grease on his previously clean fingers, James took his sandwich and boldly took a bite out of it. The flavors from the meat, the cheese and the condiments immediately hit his taste buds and made him close his eyes blissfully. All the while Smith peeked up at him from the corner of her eye.

"It's good, right?"

The captain nodded, then he swallowed, and took another bite that was far more zealous than the last. In less than five minutes that sandwich was gone, and he found himself reaching for his foam cup. The contents of that however were far less enjoyable and James ended up gagging and sputtering the awful beverage down.

"It can't be _that_ bad! Which one did you get?" An alarmed Amelia declared.

"All of them." Wilkins answered miserably. "Except for the Pepper one. Now that I got to taste it, that was probably a bad idea." He chuckled despite his foolishness.

"I'll say. Just dump that out in their little um... _Moat_ under the faucets. Then pick one, two minimum, alright?"

He nodded and obediently did as she said. Meanwhile, Richard got up the courage to try one of the golden forms of chicken that lay in a pile in their little carton.

"Awfully soft for poultry..." He mused after he swallowed the minuscule amount that he had experimentally bitten off. "But it is... not horrible I suppose."

"You can try ketchup if you want. You can have my second one." Miss Smith scooted one paper carton filled with the red sauce towards him and his lip curled.

"That is very kind of you, but I would rather not. It looks like blood." With a shrug, Amelia scooted it back towards her as she continued to eat. That just meant more sauce for her fries, then! James returned next to her, appearing much more pleased.

"Better?"

"By far. The flavor of this uh-- Coca...Cola... slightly mimics that of rum!"

"Good!" Just then, she noticed the sauce stain on the corner of James' mouth from his endeavor with the quarter pounder.

"Hold on, you have a little--" Without thinking, she grabbed one of the three napkins neatly placed on the table, and attacked the stain on his lips and close-shaven cheek. James froze, his widened cobalt eyes glanced down at her working fingers and back at her. All action with the trio ceased at her innocent gesture, even Bordon's gaze scanned between those two at her breach of etiquette and personal space! After she finished her brief task, she awkwardly lowered the napkin and crumpled it onto the white table.

"I-I got it off. Sorry." She muttered uncomfortably at him, her face heated up and she averted her gaze.

"...Ah, Thank you. And there-- there is no need to apologize." James relaxed and sat back, wiping the side of his face with his own hand and displaying the fingers to her after he was done. Then he grinned.

"See? No harm done. Can't stand to have sauce all over my handsome face, can you?" He teased, causing Smith to hide his head in embarrassment. Then she raised her face back up to meet him, for the first time that he's seen, she smiled back at him. Albeit it was a shy smile, and one that she was struggling to supress, but he found that it was still rather lovely.

Their silent moment was interrupted by Bordon, who had abandoned the meager morsels that he has not eaten and had unwittingly watched the entire exchange unfold.

"Shall I leave you two alone, then?"

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 **Yeah, this one was really an excuse to see more of James Wilkins, and his inner monologue with what he thinks about all this new stuff! But hopefully it was satisfactory after my mini-hiatus! (I also hope that you all had happy holidays, by the way!)**


	12. Chapter 12

**This one takes place during that period of time when Elizabeth was stranded in the 1940's. It's come to my attention that I did not put a whole lot of her experience in the main story**. **And since it has been a while since I've updated the scrap pile, please enjoy this extra long chapter!**

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Nikola Tesla pondered, sitting alone at the desk of his room. It was 33 stories up, in The New Yorker Hotel. The most recent home of the 82 year old inventor was plain, but thankfully functional and clean. Both traits were critical to the man. As long as his sheets and towels remained spotless and his possessions remained in the correct places, he could not complain. And just occasionally, he would encounter a celebrity or dignitary in the building, but that was an irrelevant circumstance. He much preferred seclusion and the avoidance of strangers wanting to shake his hand. His fame was more of an irony than an honor to him, really. The things he has managed to do were notable at the time, but his vision exceeded his achievements by far. Far too many visions exist, far too many ideas and possibilities and improvements that he could have brought to reality, had he been given the chance.

The elder shifted in his seat restlessly, his stomach flipped with anticipation as well as hunger. For he is expecting a meeting with a rather remarkable guest. Of course, the anticipation of her arrival made him rather anxious as the hands on his clock dragged by. For the hundredth time that morning he turned to face the miniscule device mounted over his bed. 9:39. A wave of irritation overcame the inventor, for she agreed to meet him at 9:33! A tentative knock could be heard through his door.

"Please enter!" He called, and he heard the clumsy footsteps of his new companion. His head turned and his eyes met her sparkling gaze.

"You are late."

The girl shuffled uncomfortably, though her arms were laden with brown paper bags. After depositing two on the floorboards, the silky blue fabric of her skirt swished as she quickly spun around to pick up the third.

"I'm sorry! The elevator was a little slower than I'm used to. Anyway, how have you been?"

"Oh, the same as I have been yesterday. And the day before that." The elder turned back towards the desk and rifling through the drawers. Finally his bony fingers found what he was searching for: his tools. He gazed absentmindedly at one wrench, turning it over and over in his hand lost in his thoughts.

"I must have some platinum. A small block would be sufficient, perhaps five or six grams. By passing it through those circuits I might be able to..."

At this, Elizabeth paused in her ministrations and her pale eyes glinted with indignation as she gazed over her shoulder at the scientist.

"Mister, Tesla, I have brought you some assorted fruits and vegetables, salami and turkey in a hard roll for myself, and I have spent nearly fifty dollars filling out the _previous_ order for you. But unfortunately, none of these bags contain platinum, silver, or gold... and they aren't likely to in the near future." Elizabeth responded in a low voice that dripped with far more sarcasm than she had intended. She immediately came to regret it though, when Tesla uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

"Miss Bradford, you are asking me to work on technology that is far ahead of my time! If it was possible to create time travel with stone knives and bear skins, I am certain that somebody else already would have!"

Elizabeth sighed and tried to bury one hand in her hair. Unfortunately, it was hard from the hairspray she had put in to keep her loose curls in place, and the texture quickly made her left hand recoil. Tesla's dark eyes pointed up at the ceiling at this observation as well her rouge-covered face.

"I am used to women from this era taking such care in their appearances, but why do you bother when you possess much larger concerns?"

The girl shrugged, her building frustration clearly affecting her if the stuttering was any indication.

"I r-re-eally didn't the f-fi-rst evening I was he-ere but... I have to blend in somehow in this -- time w-where people dress like..." Her voice wavered until it faded away. The woman sighed and closed her eyes in an attempt to calm down. Tesla couldn't help but observe that her eyelids and lashes were painted as well, though lightly enough that it was easy to miss. After another deep breath, she continued in a quieter, far more careful tone. Not that it made a difference of course, as her voice steadily rose in volume and irritation.

"And another thing. Are people here usually so mean, by the way? I know this is New York but... I-I've received more pa-passive aggressive remarks and nasty sidelong glances the past few days I've been here-- than I have the past seven years I've lived in Stillwater! Especially some of these other women, the ... cattiness-- while I'm just walking down the street or going into a shop. It's like everyone here knows that I don't belong!"

The elder said nothing at first, but his dark eyes glittered with indignation at the unexpected outburst.

"Yes, I suppose. I have never really paid much attention to the nature of strangers, my mind was occupied with other things." He spoke absentmindedly again, staring at what seemed to be a bit of space ahead of him. The sound of crinkling paper filled the room as Elizabeth busied herself with the groceries in an attempt to calm herself.

"Honesly, same. Most of the time. I guess..."

Her eyes met his, but she found no sympathy there. Only confusion, bemusement, some desperate attempt in his mind to work out the complicated storm of her emotions as if it were some sort of equation that _could_ be solved. She wished him luck, because even _s_ _he_ did not know what was bothering her so badly... or why she felt the need to express it to him!

"...nevermind."

She shrugged to herself as she shoved two huge, overflowing paper bags onto Tesla's desk. The innventor's eyes widened.

"Is all of this for me?"

The woman bent over a third bag that appeared to be for herself, although it was not nearly as full. The top of her head bobbed up and down as she nodded. Then she straightened back up, a sandwich in her hands.

"You are quite generous." He mused in a small voice, eying the pile of vegetables that had spilled out of the bag after he removed a rather sizable loaf of bread "I owe you a great dept."

Elizabeth, who by now had searched for a spot to settle down and eat, paused in front of a cushioned chair in the corner. The makeup did nothing to hide the flushing on her face as she peeked over her shoulder at Tesla. She already knew of the circumstances he lived under at the end of his life, but seeing how they affected him firsthand was another matter entirely. He looked absolutely nothing like the photos when he was younger. He had thinned greatly over time, now his pale skin stretched over his gaunt limbs. His face, though once bright, healthy, Elizabeth could even say _handsome,_ now looked more like a skull complete with sunken eye sockets and hollowed cheeks. Whenever he moved he was slow and weak, and even now as she looked at him his hands trembled. And she suspected that age did not have that much to do with this. Elizabeth's gaze dropped to the floor, she adjusted her long skirt and sat down, in a manner as nonchalant as she could muster.

"No way, man. It's--it's on me."

He did not respond, he did not say anything for a long while as he meticulously prepared a cold meal for himself. The pair remained in their respective corners, a heavy, awkward silence clung in the air of the room. Well, silence other than the bustling of the city that can be heard through the open window. Elizabeth did not mind, she only ate her sandwich in peace and let her mind zone out as she looked down at the street below.

The physicist found it quite fascinating really, looking down at a new place and a new era. And it was quite a sight, as bleak the weather and as dirty the city may be. The sidewalk was absolutely filled with people, and to pass the time Elizabeth picked out a few individuals that stood out just to observe. A man with gray hair walked with a woman younger than he. Their arms entwined and both wore fine, very expensive clothes. A particularly loud pedestrian argued with an equally noisy car driver about the right of way in thick Brooklyn accents. At the building across the street, a group of workers that were supposed to be painting ended up flinging the forest green liquid at each other.

The woman smirked just a bit before taking another bite of the hard bread. Before, she never really thought of the past as more than just... well, the past. Just snapshots of important events and people that she had to memorize. Now, after befriending redcoat dragoons and being zapped in the 40's, she looked past the boring textbook information. There are obvious differences between 1941 and 2016, but she observed one glaring similarity that was more important than technology. People. Everyday people, talking and laughing and fighting... just living their lives. It was bittersweet for Elizabeth, as she knew that if she and Tesla failed, if she was trapped here, she could never really be part of life the same way everyone else in the 40's did. The physicist sobered now, and decided to turn her face away from the window. Immediately she met the gaze of the elder inventor, who appeared to have been silently observing _her_ with a contemplative emptiness in his eyes that she was all too familiar with from her friendship with Amy.

"I suppose this city may be different than what you are used to. Is it not to your liking, Miss Bradford?"

"It's okay..." Elizabeth forced her voice to a lighter, cheerier tone, but it did not fool either of them.

"It--smells kinda bad though." Although it wasn't all that bothered her, she did not lie. It took her a whole day just to get used to the overpowering stench of the large city. Secretly, she found herself actually missing the kinds of aromas back home, even the more unpleasant ones she had to endure living near a college with a strong agriculture program. Hay and horse crap was more tolerable to her than diesel fumes and rotting food. The half-truth appeared to be enough to satisfy Tesla, who only nodded in response. He paused and hung his head downward, the trio of napkins he used up were meticulously folded in his hands before they were thrown away.

"What sort of energy source is used in the 21st century?" Tesla asked quite abruptly.

Elizabeth stiffened in her seat, a sizable amount of turkey and salami bulged in her cheek when she stopped chewing, froze, and glanced at him cautiously. She should have felt relieved that he did not force her to confront her homesickness any longer, but she knew that he would not like her answer. She swallowed, and after carefully wiping off her smudged lipstick, she reluctantly spoke.

"We... we still use fossil fuels, Mister Tesla."

Elizabeth was correct to predict that Tesla would not be pleased with this news. His face, radiating with curiosity and hope when he eagerly awaited her answer, dropped.

"Still, in the 21st century? I believed for certain that the practice of coal burning would have died out..."

"Well, there are new power sources that have been invented after your time. People found ways to produce energy from the sun, from wind, just as a few examples. Mostly just concepts though. There's some resistance to make these ideas a reality because--"

"--because of profit." The elder across the room finished her sentence before she could, his troubled eyes gazed down at the tile floor.

"Yes."

Tesla's shoulders slumped, his face sagged with melancholy.

"I cannot say that I am surprised. Man has a wondrous ability to evolve and improve themselves... but they will not if they continue to embrace motivation inspired by greed."

Elizabeth remained silent for a moment, the context behind his last statement did not escape her. Only a moment later she verbalize it.

"We all appear to be slaves to greed, one way or another. Several of your inventions were stolen by people who wanted to make money from them, and the rest were turned down, for the sake of continuing to profit by exploiting resources. Now..." Elizabeth glanced back at his starved form, and at the very few possessions he still had in his cramped room.

"Now you're the one who has to pay the price for it. It's not right. You should have been successful, not the oil and gas companies. You could've been richer and more famous than Edison. He _is_ one of the people who stole your ideas after all!"

Tesla shook his head, then raised it to meet her burning gaze.

"I never cared about money, or fame. That is not why I tried to share my ideas with the world. I only wanted to help."

"Aside from your attempt at building a death ray?" She smirked at her quip, but he did not find it as humorous as she did. One side of his face twitched and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I have destroyed that device long ago. I have no desire to discuss it."

Elizabeth fell silent once again, her mostly eaten sandwich was placed back in the butcher paper and forgotten in her lap. Tesla's turned away from her, taking the timepiece out of a drawer in his desk.

"So tell me... how have you become a 'slave to greed?' Since you mentioned it, I am curious to hear how the future has become."

"Well... for one thing, where I'm from, the economy depends mostly on petroleum. It's dangerous to harvest, it literally creates a risk of earthquakes by removing it from the ground, and as we start to run out of it, well... The state can barely afford to pay teachers, and tuitions at university have climbed at an exponential rate by the 21st century. But that's all over the country, not just Oklahoma. The total amount I had to pay to earn my docorate was more than 50,000 dollars."

The inventor's eyes widened in shock at Elizabeth's admittance.

"Yeah. Even with scholarships, I'll be paying off loans for a while. On the plus side, I did manage to land a job that pays reasonably well, doing what I love at the university that I studied in. I can't really complain too much personally, but I know a lot of other students who weren't so lucky. Even after one finishes college, there's no guarantee they will get a good job."

"Mmm. That is a disturbing trend, but I am pleased of to hear of a woman academic. It explains much, as I cannot discuss with most people topics as cerebral as I have with you."

Elizabeth's lips, still a faint shade of red, spread in a bashful grin. But the conversation ended there. Tesla went back to the timepiece and focused all of his attention on it as if he were alone in the room.

"This will not work until I have a good conductor. Something small, mallable but sturdy..."

He looked all around him, in the drawers, the walls, and other places that he could neither reach nor have any hope of finding waht he was looking for. When he feebly stood up and began to tear his bed apart, Elizabeth once again attempted to run her fingers through her hair as a reaction to her mild puzzlement. Once again, she remembered the very unpleasant sensation of her hardened curls and her fingers untangled themselves. But not before she felt the cold, thin stick of metal she had placed to keep one section in the back up. Her fingers found the pin again, this time removing it.

"Mister Tesla?" A thin head snapped towards her, annoyed at being interrupted. She held the pin up for him to inspect.

"Will this work?"

He did not appear to be pleased at all. His face twitched and he stumbled away from her. His hands trembled harder and he had a little fit. She looked closer at the pin to see what was wrong.

"Oh, pearls...I'm sorry!" She exclaimed apologetically, lowering the pin closer to herself and prying the offending orbs off from the glue. This was one of several oddities that Elizabeth encountered from spending time with Tesla. His fear and disgust of pearls was one of the odder ones as well, but she was not one to judge. Finally the pin was free of all decoration and she handed it to him once he relaxed a little more.

"Yes, actually it is perfect for how I will use it. May I request one small favor?"

"Sure."

"Please throw the pearls away, somewhere else. I do not want those-- those spheres of... oyster saliva!-- to remain here."

The lady's mouth hung open just a bit, wanting to respond but not quite knowing how. Her right hand remained up in front of her containing the beads.

"Uh... okay. I'll be back, and I promise not to bring any more of these here."

Elizabeth promptly placed one foot behind her and spinned 180 degrees, causing the skirt to twirl up around her legs. She left him alone, and he sat back down at his desk. A rare smile spread on his face as he took the hairpin and inserted it into the timepiece.

"I do not usually have such sentiment for another individual, but I must admit that I shall miss her when she returns. How I would enjoy traveling to the future with her, although it must not be."

Tesla sighed, his pigeon set herself on the open windowsill as she did every morning. The inventor' thin arm stretched away, for her to perch. He was lost in his contemplative state, until the bird on his arm cooed and cajoled him into petting her.

"Oh, well. We have gotten old, little one. The time for both of us has nearly come. I do not believe in an afterlife, but I like to think that at least for one brief moment when I pass, I shall learn all of the secrets that the future will uncover."


End file.
